


a soft epilogue

by Mayarene Rose (Paradise_of_Mary_Jane)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MAG 160 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 14:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/pseuds/Mayarene%20Rose
Summary: we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.In the moments between salvation and the end of the world, they almost had their happy ending.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 15
Kudos: 216





	a soft epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary quote from [this lovely poem](https://cardiamachina.co.vu/tagged/seventy%20years%20of%20sleep).
> 
> I am literally going to cling to that five minutes of happiness until Jonny Sims himself personally comes to my house and rips it out of me.

_Day 1_

They step out of the Lonely and back into the Panopticon hand-in-hand. Jon Knows that a day’s passed, without even thinking about it. There’s a quiet in the air, and Eli--Jonah Magnus is nowhere to be found. Things have settled down or they’ve come to an end.

Or they’re waiting for something, like the calm before a storm. The knowledge of what’s to come is there, just at the edge of his mind if he wants it, but Jon ignores the urge. He has more important things to worry about.

Martin’s hand is cold between Jon’s fingers and his entire body is shivering. He hasn’t said a word since he agreed to walk with Jon. Jon had talked enough for both of them, scared that Martin would disappear if he stopped. There were moments when it felt like he was fading again, the warmth seeping out of him and slowly turning into smoke. Jon hadn’t really known what to do, so he just held on tighter.

Jon doesn’t quite know what to do now, either, so he just squeezes Martin’s hand and says, “We should head back up.”

His voice comes out rough. There’s nothing to be found up at the Institute. A couple of police officers, Jon thinks, nothing else. No hunters, no Not-Sasha.

Basira is still there, on the outskirts, talking to sectioned police. The place is a crime scene now, after all, but Jon thinks he can avoid the police. There’s a map of the tunnels in his mind now, and he doesn’t want to look too closely at where it came from. He’ll speak with Basira later. Right now, he has to make sure Martin doesn’t disappear again.

Jon turns to Martin again. He hasn’t moved at all. The Forsaken’s stillness still lingers on his skin, and seems to thicken with each breath, dragging him away from Jon all over again. Jon holds on tighter because letting go is simply not an option.

“Martin,” he repeats, more forceful this time.

Martin’s head whips towards him. He turns a little more real, a little more solid than he was a moment ago, but there’s still something a little too blank in his eyes.

“What?” he says. He looks away, biting his lip. “Sorry. It’s--It’s hard to focus. Everything is so loud.”

“It’s alright, Martin,” Jon says gently, “but we should get out of this place.” The Panopticon hums with a long-forgotten power, cradling Jon like a lullaby. He wonders if Martin hears it too or if there’s another song that calls to him.

“Sure,” Martin says. “Yeah--Uh, let’s do that.” His voice is distant, a bit like when they were still in the fog, but there’s nothing Jon can do about that now.

“Come on,” Jon says. Martin doesn’t move.

“Jon?” he says. “What’s going to happen now?”

Jon opens his mouth. There’s several things he wants to say: _It’s over now. We can get away. Start over. Just you and me. Let’s leave all of this behind. _None of those were true, he understands that now. He doesn’t want to lie to Martin, but…

Martin deserves better. Jon’s certain of that. Jon wills it to be true because it’s the only thing he can offer.

“I don’t know,” he says. “We’ll figure it out, Martin. Together.”

Martin looks at him. His gaze is more focused and Jon very much wants to know what’s on his mind, can probably _Know _if he tries hard enough, but no. Martin deserves better than that. Even after all this time, the way he looks at Jon never changed.

“Alright,” Martin says, firmly this time. “We’ll do it together.”

Jon smiles and breathes a sigh of relief.

* * *

_Day 7_

Martin laughs for the first time a week after they get back.

They hide up in Martin’s flat, for lack of a better option. It’s cold and doesn’t look very lived in, which Jon supposes makes sense given the circumstance. It’s enough to work with, though. Jon opens the windows to let the noises of the city in. Jon talks to Martin, stories from his university days, about Georgie when it doesn’t hurt too much thinking about her. He tells Martin about his childhood and anything he can think of. Martin doesn’t say much but he listens, almost desperately.

(_“How much do you really know each other?”_

Well enough, Jon thinks and wills into existence. Well enough to keep going.)

The laugh itself wasn’t anything remarkable, barely even a laugh at all, but it was the first time Jon saw Martin’s eyes light-up that way in… years.

(_“The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?”_

_“You know what, I think it always has.”)_

It was stupid enough. Jon was trying to mak make tea and failing very badly. He was never very good at it. Martin was watching him while leaning against the table, and Jon couldn’t help but watch him back. He ended up nearly scalding his hand with boiling water.

Martin snorted. It was a soft sound, muffled behind his hand, but Jon looked just in time to see his eyes dancing with fondness.

Jon stares, feeling a lump rising in his throat.

Martin moves towards him, covering Jon’s hand with his own and taking the kettle from him.

“How about you leave the tea making to me,” he says, amused.

Jon wants to protest. He wanted to do something nice for Martin. Though he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on, given that he just burned himself.

“I think that’s best,” he says.

Their shoulders are brushing against each other and they’re entirely too close. Martin’s body is soft and warm, and Jon can’t help but lean into it. He sees a small smile playing at Martin’s lips, tired and hesitant, but much more than what was there before.

Jon can’t make himself look away. It’s only later he realizes that Martin couldn’t seem to, either.

* * *

_Day 12_

The police have still taped the Institute, even after so long. Basira warned them to stay away, especially since Jon already got accused of murder once. She told them that she’d take care of things while they’re away. Jon wanted to tell her that they should stay together, but there was a firmness in her voice he couldn’t dispute.

And, admittedly, he was glad to be away, at least for a little while. Somehow, despite the hunger pangs, he’s not as drawn to return as he once was.

There was only one bed in Martin’s flat. They bickered about who used it the first night, until Martin quietly suggested they share it.

(“The thing’s huge,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve actually used it. Peter picked it out. Said it was a gift. I don’t think it’s a good idea to sleep on it alone anyway.”)

He falls asleep to Martin’s gentle breathing and wakes to blond curls tickling his nose.

The feeling in his chest is almost peaceful.

* * *

_Day 19_

The air is heavier that day. Basira still wasn’t able to get her hands on statements and Jon woke up hungry and looking to hunt. Martin woke up quiet and withdrawn.They don’t speak much that morning and it isn’t the comfortable silence that’s settled over them the past few days.

“I never thanked you properly,” Martin says that afternoon. “For pulling me out of there.”

“Martin…”

“You didn’t give up on me,” he says. “Not even when everyone has. Not even when I gave up on myself so. Thank you. For coming for me.”

“You would have done the same for me,” he manages to get out after a beat. Martin always seems to say the exact thing to leave him speechless. “You have done the same thing for me. Multiple times.”

Martin looks at him oddly.

“You don’t owe me anything, Jon,” he says. “You know that, right?”

“I’m not doing this because I feel like I _owe _you something,” Jon says. The fog doesn’t cling to Martin as much these days, but it still comes from time to time. Jon recognizes the look in his eyes and has to wipe the urge to just simply tear it away. “I’m doing this because I _want_ to. Because you deserve it.”

Martin doesn’t answer but the fog eases. His shoulders loosen and the air seems to lighten.

“What you said back there in the Lonely,” Jon finds himself saying. “Did you mean it?” He doesn’t notice the compulsion slipping out until it’s too late.

“Not quite,” Martin says, after a beat.

“Oh.” Jon swallows past the lump in his throat. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected--It was just his own mind, playing tricks on him--

“I didn’t stop,” Martin says. “It was easier to think I did--less painful, but. I didn’t stop loving you.”

“Martin…” He wants to apologize for forcing the answer out of him, wants to apologize for… For a lot of things.

“Don’t apologize. It’s better it’s out in the open now.” Martin shakes his head, letting out a humorless laugh. “I’ve made things painfully awkward between us, haven’t I?”

“Wha--No!” Jon shakes his head sharply. He knows the words won’t come out right if he tries to say them. He takes Martin’s hand in his instead and holds onto it as tight as he can. “No, you haven’t.”

“Jon, what are you--”

“You haven’t said the wrong thing,” Jon says forcefully. “You didn’t. I’m--I’m glad you still feel that way.”

“You--What are you--” Martin looks down at their conjoined hands, a baffled expression on his face, shoulders tense.

“I’d say it back right now if you’d believe it,” Jon says. “If you’d still have me.”

“_Of course_ I’d still have you.” Martin still looks confused, almost upset, and Jon wants to wipe that look off his face. “I’ll always have you. But, don’t say it yet because I’ll think it’s a trick and--” He shakes his head again, as if clearing his head. He looks at Jon and his eyes are gleaming with tentative hope. “Not yet.”

“Of course,” Jon says. “I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

* * *

_Day 21_

Martin packs up his car. There’s a wide smile on his face and Jon thinks there’s one on his own, too. Technically speaking, they’re going into hiding, but it can’t help but feel like a second chance. They’re heading somewhere that’s far from all the fear and terror to finally live out their lives again.

“Trip to the Scottish highlands sounds fun and exciting, doesn’t it?” he says. “Feels like the world didn’t almost end.”

“I reckon we deserve it,” Jon says. His fingers slip into Martin’s, where it’s meant to be. “A nice change of pace.”

“It is,” Martin agrees, slipping into the driver’s seat. Jon climbs into the passenger side. “Maybe we’ll even see a few good cows.”

“Of course we’ll see good cows,” Jon says. “All cows are good cows, aren’t they?”

Martin laughs as he starts up the car. Jon watches him and it takes him a moment to recognize the feeling in his chest:

Happy, he realizes. He feels happy.


End file.
